


The Smallest Stars

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Child Abuse, Drama, Fantasy, Prequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-28
Updated: 2007-06-28
Packaged: 2018-12-27 15:19:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12083775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: AU. Brian is a child being visited by what seems to be impossible: an angel, an apparation, visiting with the sole purpose of giving Brian a friend.





	The Smallest Stars

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

  
Author's notes: This story was inspired by a Harry Potter fanfiction I read by lostgrl, also entitled _The Smallest Stars_. Name borrowed with permission.  


* * *

_All it takes is faith and trust. Oh, and something I forgot: dust! Yep, just a little bit of pixie dust. Now, think of the happiest things. It's the same as having wings._

\---

High, high up in the sky, there is a golden palace. Inside, there are fluffy pillows, like marshmallows but fifty times the size, and all the walls are painted different metallic colors to keep inhabitants on their toes. The floors are all marble, and the ceiling is not cracked, but painted and polished daily by a team of self-elected artists. 

Above the palace shines a perfect full moon, always, despite what the moon may look like down on Earth. And the stars shine even in the daytime, twinkling even in the early morning and afternoon. As for the sun, well, that shines inside, in the smile of each and every child who runs around the palace, laughing and playing. 

It is one particular golden-haired boy with a smile that most resembles sunshine who is one day enveloped in a whirl of color and sound. In the castle in the sky, this only happens when one of the children is being sent to the world below on a mission… and this child is no exception. 

\---

A million miles below, there is a city. The lights there are all chrome and neon, with no starlight or moonlight to illuminate the darkest hours. The city is filthy, not at all like the palace so many miles above it. 

In a perfect little country cottage, there lives a family. Not a happy family like the big circle of golden boys a million miles above in the sky. It is a family of shouting and slamming doors, plates clanging together and beer bottles being twisted open. It is a family of what is supposedly immersion in prayer. 

There is a mother and a father, and all the trauma that goes along with their unfulfilling relationship. There is their perfect daughter, almost nine years old now, with her pretty blond hair and fake smile that can convince everyone in the neighborhood that everything is all right, just the way her mother does it. 

And there is a son, who at this very moment is whimpering but not crying, just releasing his piercing pain into the sky above.

\---

"Daddy," moans Claire Kinney over breakfast the following morning, "Brian was making noise all night. I couldn't sleep." 

Jack's reaction is predictable. "Boy!" he shouts, beckoning his son closer to him. When Brian totters over to his father, he is smacked down to the ground with a heavy blow to the head. The whimpers come quickly this time, much more quickly than last night, when all that had scared him was a nightmare and the darkness of his tiny bedroom. 

His tiny bedroom is where Brian now escapes to, running faster than he might have if there were a bear chasing him. As it is, the only possible threat against him is his father, who is bad enough. So Brian runs. 

Flinging himself down on the tiny bed, the five-year-old's dark hair, almost as long as his sister's, flops down in his face. Brian is just pushing the dark locks out of his eyes when he sees something – or rather, someone – in his room who shouldn't be. 

"You can cry," a small voice tells him. "I won't make fun of you."

Brian spins around, his long hair flopping all about his face. His sharp, fine features are skeptical. "What are you doing here?" he demands. He does not bother to ask the boy where he came from or who he is. 

The boy with shining golden hair and sparkling blue eyes laughs – a beautiful, bouncing giggle that brings light into the room. He is sitting in the window, which had been left open so as to allow Brian a breeze of fresh air. "I wanna be here," he informs the other boy. "Why are _you_ here?" 

"This is my room," Brian retorts. "But you can stay if you want to." He doesn't actually want the boy here, but it's nice to not be alone for a change, even if it just means sitting in silence with someone else in the room. 

The blonde wrinkles up his nose. "You don't get to tell me where I can stay." He jumps off the windowsill and leaps inside Brian's room. "It's blue," he remarks. "That's it? Just blue?" 

Brian scowls. "I didn't paint it. Leave me alone." 

"If you say so." And Brian watches as the tiny blond boy jumps to his feet, climbs back onto the windowsill, and promptly disappears.

Later, Brian sits with Claire in the back seat of Jack's car, on the way to their babysitter's house, and he wishes he had the blond boy back, if only to have someone to talk to. 

\---

Brian sits against the wall, fists clenched to distract him from the heat. At last, he reaches his tiny hands up to the window and pushes it open. He realizes his mistake almost immediately, and reaches back up to yank it shut, but it is too late. Before Brian can so much as grab the window, there is a tiny figure sitting on the windowsill, its little legs kicking out at Brian. As for the latter boy, he is pushed backwards, shoved against the bed. 

Wondering if maybe he might stand a chance against this boy, who is his peer after all, Brian, dives forward and grabs the child's leg, pulling him down. The boy comes down quickly, collapsing on the ground beside Brian, panting. Their shoulders touch and they stare up at the ceiling, suddenly subdued.

"When you want to play, you have to ask," the boy tells Brian solemnly. "'Cept, it was fun." A sunshiny smile spreads across his tiny face, and Brian turns to his side to find the source of the glow. When he sees that it is the boy's smile that is lighting up the room, Brian narrows his eyebrows. 

"Who are you?" he asks skeptically.

The boy giggles and slithers his slim little body across the floor, springing up to jump onto Brian's cushiony bed. "You can call me Sunshine!" he declares delightedly. "All the other boys do." 

"Other boys?" echoes Brian. When no answer is forthcoming, he decides to ask a different question, eyeing Sunshine curiously in the dark bedroom. "Why are you here?" he inquires. 

Sunshine's sunshine smile falls away, only to be replaced by a more solemn expression. "I wanted to play with you 'cause I saw you in the window," he says, but his little hands are twitching, like there is more to the story than what he chooses to disclose. "Crying." 

"I wasn't crying!" Brian yells. "I _don't_ cry." 

The little boy rolls onto his side and examines Brian carefully. "You get mad easily," he observes, rubbing circles on one of his own palms with his other thumb. 

Brian slowly rises from his position on the ground, lying down, and sits up. "Um," he says slowly, meeting the other boy's eyes and holding his gaze for a long moment. "Do you want to play?" 

Rising steadily to his feet on top of the bed, Sunshine slides one hand up the wall to keep himself from falling. Then he extends his other arm to Brian, who takes it. Sunshine pulls him up onto the bed. "Just let yourself go," the blonde tells his companion. 

Within moments, both boys are jumping as though there is no tomorrow, laughing and playing in ways that neither has ever done before. Two sunshine smiles light up the room, awakening the joy in even the darkest, dustiest corners of the bedroom, every crawl space that the moonlight cannot touch.

\---

The next day, when Brian hastily excuses himself from breakfast and accidentally spills Cheerios and milk all over the kitchen table, Jack is suspicious. He doesn't know much about his son, but he knows that when he himself was a child, he was sneaky and sly, and always had something up his sleeve despite never saying much.

As he hunkers up to the boy's tiny bedroom, Jack can almost swear he hears noises. Not noises like Brian skittering around his bedroom, or even noises like a single boy entertaining himself with toys and such. No. Jack hears _two_ voices – _two_ sets of giggles. He twists the doorknob and thrusts the door open, expecting the worst – a girl stowed away in Brian's room, perhaps? – and sees – 

– two tiny figures sitting together on the floor, holding each other's hands, staring into one another's eyes. Jack is taken aback – five is a little young to be having romantic notions – and then he sees two things at once: one, the figure that is not Brian is not exactly a _girl_ ; and two, the boys appear to be engaging in some sort of staring competition. That much is evident in the way the boy's faces are screwed up, trying to concentrate. 

Then the boy sitting opposite Brian bursts into giggles and tears his eyes away from his companion. His blue eyes light up with happiness, and Jack, cold-hearted man though he is, is almost tempted to cross the room and smile warmly at the child. Then, as if on cue, the boy spots Jack – and promptly disappears. Just like that. 

Brian freezes, then slowly turns to face where his friend had just been looking. He sees his father standing there and immediately scampers over to the bed. "No one was here!" Brian whimpers, his brown eyes wide. 

Jack decides that he is simply in a drunken stupor, having a bizarre dream. Children don't just _vanish_ like that. They don't. So he hobbles his way back to the bedroom, strips down to his boxers and wifebeater, and promptly falls asleep. 

As Jack snores, the window in Brian's bedroom creaks open, and a tiny blond figure creeps inside once more.

\---

After Jack, Claire is the first to notice what is going on with her brother. Yet despite not having a "man's brain," as Jack puts it, Clare is still young enough to understand the details of the situation. 

She first discovers Sunshine while complaining that her brother gets to have friends over much more often than she does. It is a foolish argument, considering that Brian does not have any friends, but Claire hears giggling and storms into her brother's room angrily, bent on shouting at the little boy for ruining her life. 

But then she sees Brian playing. _Playing_. She's never seen him do it before. She watches, fascinated, as her brother and his blond companion play-wrestle on Brian's bed. 

Then she makes the mistake of whispering, " _Brian_ ," and the boy is gone within an instant. Simply vanished into thin air. 

For her age, Claire is quite sharp, and can identify the situation very quickly. Brian, she decides, is being visited by a magical being. Something – not human. A wizard or a nymph or something to that effect. 

She remembers reading a Maurice Sendak book about a little boy just about Brian's age who was kidnapped by monsters. But Claire is nearly nine now, too old to believe in monsters. No, the creature visiting Brian is not a monster. He's too cute to be one, too _humanish_ , even if he's not actually human. 

Scrounging up old Halloween costumes in her memory, Claire at last comes to the conclusion that the little blond boy is a little ghost, as solid as he may look and actually _be_. (How can he be anything _but_ solid, considering that Claire saw him wrestling with Brian?) But nothing else could possibly look so human. 

Claire shrugs it off, deciding that her brother needs someone to play with, and this kid obviously needs a friend just as badly as Brian does. She is left with only two worries: one, what does the ghost have planned for Brian? Does he mean to help or harm? 

Her second question, much more unsettling to her, is thus: just how long does the ghost intend to stay around? 

\---

"Look!" Brian cries one day as his only friend crawls through the bedroom window. He brandishes a pair of rubberish cylindrical objects, both translucent and gel-like inside. 

"What are those?" Sunshine asks, stepping forward to examine them. 

Brian shrugs. "They're my dad's," he says. "I found them in his room, but look! We can play _swords_!" And with that, he tosses Sunshine one of the swords. Before giving the boy a chance to prepare himself for the upcoming "battle," Brian leaps forward, sword in hand, and begins to fight playfully. Sunshine is quick to get into position and fight back, jabbing Brian in the chest with his own sword. 

Their battle continues for several minutes, featuring multiple graphic deaths that last about five seconds each and are then followed by miraculous recoveries. When at last the boys collapse on the bed, they are panting, sweat trickling down their necks and chests. 

"It's hot," Brian rasps. 

Sunshine giggles. "I can open a window," he says, sliding off the bed. He lands delicately on his rear end, then raises himself up and crosses to the window. 

Before Brian can say a word – maybe some sort of warning, like "don't open it all the way" or "be careful" – Sunshine's hands are on the window, forcing it upward. He pushes it all the way up, and to his and Brian's amazement, when the window is fully open and clicks into place as high as it will go, there is a shrill squeak. 

Brian swivels around to find the source of the noise, and turns just in time to see Sunshine's blond little head disappearing out the window and out of sight. 

It is then that Brian first comes to regard the window as the gateway to another world, one both bleaker and sunshinier than his own. 

\---

It begins to drive Brian steadily mad that Sunshine cannot play outside. From time to time he remarks, "For a boy named _Sunshine_ , you sure have a problem with the sun." It is funny the first time, and mildly funny the second, but after that it begins to get old. 

Equally so, Sunshine is driven mad by Brian's clear devotion to his father. Despite his hardened outer shell – "I don't care what he thinks of me," Brian declares petulantly – it is clear that Brian _does_ care, and proves it regularly. When Jack orders him to clean his room, Brian obeys. When Jack howls at Brian to "stop that racket," Brian is quiet instantly. And when, in the darkest hours, Brian hears the clatter of glass bottles and the angry footsteps of his violent father, Brian has the good sense to shoo Sunshine away, wanting to shield his friend from his father's blows. 

Sunshine may be only a child – that is, a youngling that goes by whatever name his species would label it – but he knows things. He's _seen_ things. In his castle on top of the world, Sunshine hears stories. The other boys tell of the most horrible things, and it is because of those stories that Sunshine is able to understand the complex relationship between Brian and his father. He knows that Brian needs someone to love and admire, and in a house with no role models and in a world extending only as far as his bedroom window, Brian has very few choices. His father is the only man Brian knows. To him, Jack is a god. 

But Sunshine knows better. He's seen and known better men that Jack can ever hope to be. He has a Grandpa Grassi waiting for him somewhere in the clouds, a Papa Astro and a Papa Zen and the happily married Auntie Hazel and Uncle Pickle. He knows that these are good men, and he knows that Jack Kinney, despite all Brian's beliefs to the contrary, is _not_ a good man. 

But one thing Sunshine has been taught all his life is never to spoil innocence, so he does not say a word to Brian about this. He lets Brian carry on his beliefs of being loved, because everyone deserves to feel that way. 

In the clouds, in his perfectly perfect castle, Sunshine knows that he is always loved. 

  
Brian deserves the same, even if it is only an illusion. 

\---

One day, when Sunshine appears in the window, Brian is sitting on his bed, staring emptily onto the bedspread. Sunshine takes slow steps inside, making sure not to make noise as he crosses the room to Brian's bed. When at last he reaches his friend, he lays a soft hand on Brian's shoulderblade. "Brian?" he asks quietly. 

Brian's reaction is immediate. He tears away from the other boy. "Don't touch me!" he yells. 

"Brian, I – " 

"Don't touch me!" he yells again, jumping off of the bed. "I don't need you here!" 

Sunshine's eyes widen. He isn't surprised by the violent intensity of Brian's expression – he knows that this is anger, the fury laced behind Brian's hazel eyes, and knows that it always goes away. With time. There is a difference, Sunshine was taught by his beloved Papa Zen, between anger and hatred, and it is important to differentiate.

"I want to help," Sunshine says softly, laying a hand on Brian's chest. He feels the other boy's heartbeat, which at first is impossibly fast. Then it slows down, calmer under the soft, gentle touch of Sunshine. 

Brian does not move. There is no rage written in his deep, complex stare – far too complex for a boy of no more than five years old, going on six. He simply stands there, letting Sunshine calm him down, until at last he feels inexplicably tired. He takes several steps backward and folds himself over his bed, still on his feet but bending his back over so that he is lying down as well. 

Sunshine does not ask what happened, but his eyes do. 

"Dad," Brian says softly. 

Sunshine understands. He is referring to violence. Not mere slaps or punches, either; Brian sees that often enough, deals with it. This must be something that goes beyond that, far beyond. "You?" Sunshine whispers. 

Brian shakes his head. "Two boys. In the neighborhood. He broke their legs." 

Sunshine winces. He does not ask why. He knows that Jack Kinney is unpredictable. The bitter-tasting bronze beverage that makes him so unpredictable… _that_ is unpredictable. "And are you okay?" Sunshine asks, climbing onto the bed beside Brian. He stretches out across the bed on his stomach, propped up on his elbows. He looks straight into Brian's eyes. 

"Yeah," Brian says. 

It is the second lie he has ever told. The first: moments prior, telling Sunshine that he isn't needed.

\---

Sometimes when Sunshine visits, he stays for weeks at a time. Other times, he visits for only a short time, then is gone for as long as a month. This particular visit takes place after a very long time Sunshine spent away.

"How come you go 'way sometimes?" Brian asks in his best child's voice, sounding far younger than his five-almost-six years.

"'Cause I have a family," Sunshine replies, sounding almost surprised that Brian asked. 

"Like mine?" Brian asks. "Do you have a Mama and a Dad and a sister?" "

Sunshine laughs softly. "No, not like that. I live in this _beautiful_ castle," he says, his eyes widening to show Brian the full beauty of the place. "We call it Babylon. Nobody ever ever ever grows up, we're all just little boys there. And sometimes they send us down here to make people happy. Like you. So all the little boys there and me, we're friends. And then there's this _other_ castle, and that's where my family lives. It's called Britin." 

"Britin," Brian repeats. 

Nodding, Sunshine continues, "When I'm here, I'm here. And when I leave, I go to Britin to see my family. And one day… one day, when you grow up, I'm gonna have to go to Babylon, and they'll send me to help another little boy." 

Brian freezes. "You mean you're gonna go away?" 

Sunshine, twirling a strand of hair, does not answer. 

"I don't want you to go away," Brian insists. "I want you to stay. For a long time." 

After a moment, Sunshine speaks up again, his voice so quiet that Brian has to strain to hear it. "My Papa Astro said that once, a long, long time ago, he was at Babylon too. And they sent him down to meet this boy – I don't remember his name. And Papa Astro and him were best friends. They went everywhere together and did everything together." 

"Like us," Brian comments. 

Sunshine nods. "Except one day, after school, the boy told Papa Astro about this _thing_. He met a girl, and he and the girl… did things." Sunshine makes a show of shuddering. "Grown-up things. When Papa Astro left after that week to go home and see his family… he couldn't go back. The window was shut. It was open, but there was a block, and Papa Astro couldn't see his friend again." 

There is a long silence. 

Then, out of nowhere, Brian says, "I'm never going to do anything with any girls, then." 

"Me neither," Sunshine agrees. 

And they go back to their game.

\---

It is Brian's sixth birthday. To commemorate the occasion, Joan Kinney is holding a party. Those invited are the neighbors, Claire's friends, and, of course, Sunshine. But his is an invitation not sent out in the mail, for he does not live, as the others do, on the ground. Sunshine's invitation is handed to him in person one night as he lies on his stomach across Brian's bed, flipping through the pages of a book while Brian is taking a bath. The door opens and Claire enters, holding a dark blue invitation in her hand. 

Immediately, Sunshine springs up and dashes for the window. But Claire stops him with a look. "It's okay," she says in a tone that is clearly meant to be comforting. "I know about you guys." With a look of wisdom that looks bizarre on a nine-year-old, she steps forward and hands Sunshine the invitation. "Brian's having a party. He'd like it if you could be there, I'm sure." 

"Party?" Sunshine echoes. He's heard the word, but… parties are for grown-ups. Why is Brian having one? 

"Yeah," says Claire. "For his birthday. He's turning six." 

Now Sunshine is well and truly lost. "I'll talk to Brian," he says, and Claire exits. 

Brian enters the room less than a minute after Claire's departure, and Sunshine helps towel him off. "What's a birthday?" Sunshine asks as Brian steps into his pajamas. 

The other boy tilts his head to the side, unsure of what Sunshine means. Besides, what child doesn't know what a birthday is? "You don't know?" he asks. 

"What's a birthday?" Sunshine repeats. 

"It means I'm another year older," Brian says proudly, crossing his arms over his pajama-clad chest. "I've been around for six whole years." 

Sunshine wrinkles his nose, unsatisfied with the very vague answer. "What's a year?" 

"I don't know," says Brian. "A long time." 

"So you're having a party to celebrate time? That's silly," Sunshine laughs. "It's not like you _did_ anything. You're just having a party because of… time." 

Brian sneers at him, "You're just jealous. 'Cause you don't _have_ a birthday. Right?" 

Sunshine lets the invitation slip out of his hands and, unabashed, he crosses the room, climbs into the windowsill, and disappears. 

Brian's bedroom door clicks shut, and he turns to hear the footsteps of Claire disappearing down the hallway.

\---

The dark-haired birthday boy bends over the table, blowing fiercely on the six candles adorning his chocolate birthday cake. He hates chocolate, and though his mother should know this, she is convinced that the party should be more for the entertainment of the guests than the guest of honor. 

"Make a wish," Claire reminds him before all the fire on the candles disappears.

As though suddenly remembering, Brian conjures up something to wish for. _Sunshine_ , he thinks. _I want Sunshine to be here_. But it has been more than three weeks since the invitation was given to Sunshine by Claire, and Sunshine has not yet returned to his beloved friend. That means that despite the cold summer night air, Brian's window has not been closed in almost a month.

As Joan cuts the cake, Brian sits in his chair, the seat of honor, beside his sister. He is very quiet. 

"So, Brian, how does it feel to be six years old?" Claire asks sweetly, accepting a slice of cake from her mother and politely refraining from eating it until all the others have been served.

Brian's eyes fill with an icy fire, as though reflecting his extinguished birthday candles, before responding, "It doesn't matter. Birthdays don't matter. It's only time." 

A slice of cake is set down in front of him, and Brian passes it on to the girl beside him, stubbornly refusing to eat anything that contains chocolate. 

Claire wonders if perhaps on this day, her brother is turning not six, but thirty. She licks chocolate off of her fingers and gets a head start on devouring her brother's piece, smugly aware that she will not have to get out of her seat in order to retrieve seconds.

\---

Sunshine is waiting in Brian's room one day when he returns from a drive with his mother to pick Claire up from school. The blonde boy – rather, the fair-haired _creature_ – is outfitted in a white robe of what appears to be silk, with a red ribbon wrapped around his slim waist. "Hi," he says quietly when Brian opens the door, looking at the other boy with such earnestness that for a moment it seems as though nothing ever happened. 

But something _did_ happen. 

"Where were you?" Brian asks, trying to keep his tone steady. 

Sunshine sits up. "You didn't need me, 'cause you're _growing up_ , so I went to another boy for a little while," he explains smugly. "You said you're getting older, and my Papa Zen says that when you get older, you think you don't need other people. Except that's not true, it's just, when you get older, what you really don't need are toys and games and stuff you liked when you were little. Papa Zen said you 'put away childish things' and start to be independent," he concludes, butchering the pronunciation of the last word. 

"I don't like your Papa Zen very much," Brian announces frankly. "But where did you go?" He still doesn't understand the concept of Sunshine leaving, of him being left with no one to cuddle with when times get rough. 

Sunshine shrugs his slim shoulders, but Brian can see clear enchantment in the boy's deep blue eyes and he recounts the story. "Mama Bloom and Mama Star took me to a place at Babylon with different music. Slower music. Called a violin. And then… then I was in this other room, with this boy. His name was Ethan, and I called him that, but he never called me Sunshine. Only you do, you and my family. Ethan said Sunshine's not a name, and tried to give me a new one. So that's why I came back to you. Because I know that it's not good to try to change people, and that's what grown-ups try to do. So maybe Ethan's a grown-up, but that means I can stay with you." He looks suddenly shy. "That is… if you want me to." 

Brian looks the boy up and down. "What did he call you?" he asks sharply. 

Glancing at the floor, Sunshine sighs. "Justin," he says. 

"Well, Sunshine," says Brian, sitting down on the bed beside his friend, "I think I can forgive you. Except you have to do one thing." 

Sunshine looks up eagerly. "What is it?" he asks, sounding just the tiniest bit desperate like he can't believe that Brian could possibly forgive him. 

"You have to give me a cool name like yours, too." 

There is a moment's pause between the two boys while Sunshine deliberates. Then, at last, the golden-haired child on the bed sits up straight and calmly suggests, "Maybe you don't need a name. Maybe you're interesting and fun just being called 'Brian.'" At his friend's scowl, Sunshine amends, "Or, since you get mad easily and stuff, we could call you Rage."

The only thing Brian can say is "Yes."

\---

Rage and Sunshine, Sunshine and Rage… the two daredevil children rush around the house day after day, playing all sorts of games. Tag and Hide and Seek are not nearly enough for these boys; rather, they construct all sorts of elaborate fantasies to play out, like the ones where Brian saves Sunshine from a dragon, or where the boys together defeat an evil princess trying to worm her way into Sunshine's heart. 

One warm summer night, the boys are playing together when an amazing idea for a game occurs to Sunshine. "Okay," he says to Brian happily. "I have a new idea." 

Brian looks on expectantly. Sunshine always has great ideas.

"I'm Peter Pan," the blonde boy proposes delightfully. "And you're a boy I visit. You're scared of growing up, so I give you my hand and take you to a world where you can be a kid forever." 

To the boys, it's perfect: the fairy tale Brian has always wished he could live. Call him childish, but then, he _is_ only six. His mother is an avid watcher of sappy "inspirational" movies with the same sorts of predictable endings as the stories in her beloved Chicken Soup for the Soul; his father prefers violent films, with car chases and such. Claire, on the other hand, loves cheesy romance movies. That leaves Brian as the resident lover of fairy tales. Nothing pleases him more than to drop off to sleep thinking not of the ways that he could find true love, or solve a mystery, or find God – but rather, thinking of the adventure and happily-ever-after his life is sure to bring. 

"Okay," Brian says, and he walks across the room to his bed. 

Sunshine tilts his head, obviously confused. "What are you doing?" he asks, bewildered. 

Brian laughs. "Well, you have to start in the windowsill, silly. And I have to be in bed."

"Is that how the fairy tale goes?" Sunshine asks, trying to remember the beginning of his beloved animated adventure.

The other boy shrugs. "Who cares? It's how our fairy tale goes, isn't it?" 

Sunshine beams, and he has never looked more like the sun than he does in that moment. With an award-winning smile on his face, he climbs into the windowsill and begins the game.

\---

The boys continue to play, uninterrupted, for four years. Over time, they become more than inseparable: they become _brothers_. Not literally, of course; not even a blood vow could strengthen the connection of Brian and Sunshine. Rather, they become brothers in their emotional connection – in the way that Sunshine has no desire to ever be without Brian, and Brian the same for Sunshine. 

It becomes the norm for Brian to bring Sunshine to school. He is not a registered student, of course, but the teachers have experience with the Kinney family and know that it is in the children's best interests for the school to do everything within its power to keep the Kinney children outside the home. Somehow, the teachers have come to the conclusion that Sunshine is Brian's younger brother, or some sort of live-in relative, and have decided that it is acceptable for Brian to bring him to school, provided that he keeps quiet and does not distract the others. 

In the Kinney household, the only one who has yet to see Sunshine is Joan, who remains convinced that Sunshine is a figment of Brian's imagination, and a hallucination of her oft-drunken husband. As for Jack and Claire, it is obvious to them that Sunshine is a very important presence in Brian's life; through that, Claire has decided that it is important to make him comfortable, while Jack has decided the opposite and has taken a strong dislike to the boy. ("It's queer," he utters in a drunken stupor one humid summer night when Brian is eight. "I don't like how close they're becoming." He then utters some wild profanities.)

There is only one other place of significance in Brian's life, and that is at his neighbors' house, where Joan often drops him when he gets to be "too much" for her to handle. (Of course, Sunshine comes along, and makes as little noise as possible in doing so.) At the neighbors', a redheaded woman with curly hair spots Sunshine immediately and grins at him, receiving a full-wattage smile in response. Her brother looks at Sunshine with equal affection, which is returned. The third resident at the neighbors', however, completely ignores Sunshine and takes the time instead to fawn over Brian. 

Brian, however, promptly rejects the boy, and it is then that he realizes that Sunshine is becoming his entire world. 

\---

Brian is ten when Sunshine realizes that it is beginning to happen. 

Sunshine has always looked a certain way, you see. Though in terms of height and weight it is his nature to mirror the age of his human companion, his face is clearly the face of a six-year-old, and likely will always be that way. At least, until he begins to grow up internally – but that isn't likely to be happening anytime soon. 

However, at ten, Brian is clearly beginning to look older. His hair grows longer, his features begin to harden, and his skin loses that soft, babyish quality that Sunshine happily maintains. And, yes, he is taller. Still skinny, Brian is labeled "lanky," while Sunshine gladly accepts the label "petite." 

But it isn't only physically that Brian is beginning to age. If that were all, Sunshine might be able to accept it. But it isn't. Because it is one night when Brian is ten that Jack Kinney comes home, drunk out of his mind, a beer bottle clenched in his hand like it is his life support. 

\---

A knock on the door awakens Brian and Sunshine from their slumber. 

Since starlight still peeks in through the window, it is safe for the boys to assume that this is not a friendly visit from Claire with milk and cookies. And since the boys can hear labored breathing that sounds interestingly like some sort of undead creature, it takes only a moment for them to put the pieces together. And without thinking, Brian grabs Sunshine and shoves him in the crawl space between the bed and the wall, because a little pain is a lot tamer than what's coming from Jack. 

And then, with no recourse, Brian scampers across the room and, his hand trembling, opens the door. 

"Hi, Dad," he says brightly, trying to smile, but his eyes betray his fear. Even lurking against the bed as he is, Sunshine can tell how scared Brian is. He wants nothing more than to help his friend… but there's nothing he can do. 

Jack growls, low in his throat. "Where's that kid?" he snarls, practically drooling. Brian steps back. He's seen one too many scary movies, curled up with Sunshine on the couch while his parents are out and Claire is distracted, not to be unnerved by this behavior.

"Sunshine went home," Brian replies. This is a blatant lie, and sober, Jack would know it, because Sunshine hasn't called anything besides the Kinney household "home" in more than a year. Sure, he's taken the occasional trip back to see his Papa Zen and other adoring caretakers, but never overnight. He's always back before three in the morning, which to any other ten-year-old would seem unfathomably late, but to Sunshine is simply the wee hours before the dawn. 

For a boy whose name is "Sunshine," he sure likes nighttime. Brian would find it amusing if it weren't so perfectly _Sunshine_. 

"Where's that kid live, anyway?" Jack demands, shoving past Brian and entering the bedroom, looking around as though he expects to find Sunshine hiding under the desk. 

Brian almost laughs. The question is so simple; the answer, socomplex. "Uh," he says. "Far." 

"Far?" growls Jack. "Far like Philly? New York? Canada? Jupiter?" 

It occurs to Brian that the closest of the four choices is the latter. Jupiter is just about as far away as Sunshine's magical castle in the sky. Compared to that, Philadelphia, New York, and Canada seem like ten-minute walks. 

"Uh," Brian says, thinking fast. "Philly," he lies. The other locations seem too far a journey for any _normal_ ten-year-old to travel. 

"And how's he get here?" continues Jack, kicking some things around on the floor. 

Tricky, but Brian comes up with an answer in a second: "His parents are divorced," he lies. "He lives with his mom in Philly, but his dad lives here. And Sunshine visits sometimes." 

"Yeah," interrupts Jack, suddenly distracted by something else. "That's another thing. What kind of name is _Sunshine_? Who names a kid that? That's not his name." 

Dishing out another lie, Brian says, "I know. I just call him that 'cause he likes it." 

"What's his real name?" Jack shoots back. 

Brian calls upon a memory of a discussion he had with Sunshine once, but rather than tell Jack the name Sunshine told him, Brian says, "He's never told me. He doesn't like that name. So I just call him Sunshine." 

"It's pretty queer, if you ask me," Jack remarks. "Two boys sharing a bed, one calling the other Sunshine… what's he call _you_?" he demands. 

Brian smirks, demonstrating an expression that no ten-year-old should have perfected. "Rage," he retorts. 

"Whatever," Jack growls, and suddenly turns toward the door. Before he can make it there, though, he catches sight of a look of something in Brian's eyes. It's unmistakable, even to the drunken man: relief. "What's that on your face?" he snarls. 

Clearing away his expressions as fast as he can, Brian blurts out, "Nothing." 

 

Jack roars a profanity and leans closer to his son, the smell of whiskey hot on his breath. "You don't get that look with me, you hear me? You _respect_ me. Got that?" 

Brian wrinkles his nose. 

Giving his son a harsh kick in the shin, Jack repeats, "I said, _got that_?" 

"Yeah," Brian mumbles. Suddenly all he can think of is Justin lying there, sandwiched between the bed and the wall… hearing every word… feeling sorry for him… seeing his weakness. 

Brian feels rather ill, and from the look on his father's face, Jack does, too. The man stalks out of the room, clearly displeased, and Brian hastens to close the door and lock it. He then nervously walks back over to the bed. "Sunshine?" he whispers. 

Sunshine pokes his little blond head out. "Brian… are you okay?" he murmurs, trying his best to force his way out of the crawl space. Once he is sitting on top of the bed, he pulls up the covers and nestles closer to Brian. 

Brian stifles his anger, if only for the moment, and lets Sunshine lie beside him. He tells himself it's just because Sunshine clearly needs the contact, but it's a lie. Sunshine doesn't need it; he _wants_ it. Brian, meanwhile, couldn't live without it.

\---

The beatings continue, taking place sometimes in the dead of night and sometimes in the middle of the afternoon. Brian becomes the victim of his father's tyranny at breakfast… when Jack comes home from work… over dinner… in the middle of the night… constantly. Sunshine does his best to protect the boy, but he has learned that with the exception of Brian, everybody in the human world is able to touch him and put their hand right through him… like a ghost. So Sunshine has learned that it's better just not to touch people, to avoid embarrassing incidents. 

So what can he do about the problem with Jack? 

He can watch… and wait. 

But in the meantime, Brian is changing. Running and playing has never been his favorite activity, but now he avoids it like the plague. He avoids sports at all costs, because now he gets tired very easily. And as for swimming, once a beloved hobby of Brian's, he is now far too shy to get in the pool, afraid that others might comment on the bruises and scratches running up and down his back and legs. 

There's something else, too. 

A long, long time ago, Justin knew a boy who loved to run and laugh and play. He had the best friends in the world. They were so close to him, he called them family. And that's what they were to him: family. But then one day, something bad happened to him. And he lost his ability to smile, and to love. He put up his guard one day, and he never loved again. 

So when Brian starts acting a little more… _distant_ , with other plans with other boys in the neighborhood and long hours holed up in his parents' room sniffing potpourri, Sunshine begins to worry. 

"I love you, Brian," he tells his friend. 

But Brian scoffs. "No, you don't." 

"But I do," Sunshine insists.

But Brian never believes him. 

And just like that, with a few punches dished out by Jack Kinney and some religious nonsense about not being too close to your friends spewed by Joan Kinney, Brian and Sunshine begin to drift apart. 

\---

That's not to say, of course, that in the company of the blood-red sun as it drifts on the horizon, Brian and Sunshine do not play together. They do. Bats and balls are stolen from Brian's school playground, and Brian and Sunshine take their places on the baseball field at the high school, normally forbidden territory to children of their age. 

But then another boy ambles by, swinging a little baseball bat of his own. "Can I play?" he inquires gruffly, his bright pink tee-shirt catching the sunlight and clashing horribly with his permanent scowl and burly build.

Brian looks less than convinced, but Sunshine is always happy for some company, even if he is just a teeny bit jealous that Brian has other friends besides just him. So brightly, Sunshine says, "Sure! Come on over." 

The pink-shirted boy does so, dragging his baseball bat in the sand. "I'm Sunshine!" Sunshine announces. Gesturing to Brian, he adds, "And this is my best friend Brian." 

"I'm Chris," the boy mutters. "You're loud." After a moment of silence, he continues, "My brother told me Sunshine and Brian are faggots. Are you guys faggots?" 

Sunshine and Brian glance at each other. Neither has ever heard the word before, but, determined not to appear ignorant of what is clearly a common derogatory term, they both shake their heads quickly. 

The boy looks skeptical, and eyes first Brian, then Sunshine. "You look like faggots," he grumbles. With a loud squeak, he scrapes the baseball bat across the ground. He doesn't look where he's going, and the heavy bat drags across Sunshine's foot. But it looks intentional – at least, to Brian's watchful hazel eyes.

"Ouch!" Sunshine hisses, clutching his foot and rubbing it.

Brian takes a step closer to Chris, apparently ready to do serious damage to the boy, then thinks better of it and puts an arm around Sunshine's shoulders. "Let's go," he murmurs in Sunshine's ear, and ushers him away.

\---

Sunshine has never been sick. At least, not in the way people get sick. Sunshine has never been human-sick.

Neither has Brian – at least, as far as either boy can remember – until today. 

But now, the dark-haired boy is bent over the toilet, Sunshine holding his hair behind his head as he retches violently into the bowl which, upon discovering Brian's condition, Joan hastily covered in plastic wrap to prevent damage to the porcelain. "Are you okay?" Sunshine breathes when there is a momentary lapse in the vomiting.

Brian glares. "Stupid question," Sunshine concedes, and rubs Brian's back warmly, offering what comfort he can to the ailing child. 

At that moment, Claire enters the bathroom, sees the boys kneeling on the floor together, and chuckles. "What?" Brian snaps between lunges for the toilet. 

Claire snorts, tossing her blond hair behind her head and standing as far away from the boys as possible while still being in the room. "You guys are so dramatic. Just take a Tylenol and be done with it."

"I did," Brian grumbles. "Didn't work."

Justin shrugs. "I'm allergic," he tells Claire, not that anyone would expect him to take Brian's medicine anyway. Then again, what works for one twin generally works for the other, and while Brian and Justin are not exactly brothers or twins, they certainly act like it most… no, _all_ of the time.

The discussion is halted again by Brian's violent retching into the toilet. Claire recoils. "Um… Mom's making soup," she says, then flees, dashing out of the bathroom and down the stairs into the kitchen. Sunshine laughs quietly, and much as Brian would love to join him in that, he is unable to, as another stream of vomit makes its way to the top of his throat and into the toilet. 

A few minutes later, Brian leans over the newly flushed toilet, his chin almost grazing the water, panting heavily. He takes a few deep breaths before finally slumping against Sunshine, who is still holding his hair and rubbing his back. "Think you're done for now?" Sunshine asks worriedly.

"Yeah," Brian rasps. 

Sunshine nods. "Can you stand?" 

"Not sure," Brian replies, still in that shockingly hoarse voice.

Understanding, Sunshine kneels beside his friend, slips his hands beneath the other boy's legs, and hoists the heavier boy into his arms. He grunts under the weight but manages to stumble from the bathroom into Brian's bedroom – well, now it more fits under the description of their shared bedroom, after so many years residing in it together. With one last heave, Sunshine hoists Brian up higher into his arms and finally sets him down on the bed. Then, with Brian lying down comfortably on the twin-sized bed, Sunshine sinks down onto the floor, breathing heavily. 

"I don't think you can catch my germs," Brian remarks. 

Sunshine laughs. "No, it's not that, I'm just too tired to get up." 

Brian rolls over onto his side and outstretches an arm to Sunshine. "Go on," he encourages. "Take it." 

The blonde smiles and takes his hand, allowing himself to be pulled up onto the bed beside Brian. 

When Joan enters the bedroom with tomato soup a quarter of an hour later, the sunlight streaming in through the window illuminates two sleeping boys' figures on the bed, cuddled up together, their hair falling into each other's eyes. Joan smiles and sets the two bowls on a tray on Brian's nighttable, then leaves, chuckling.

It is the first time Joan has ever physically seen Sunshine, and also the last.

\---

The day before Brian turns eleven, two things happen that send both Brian and Sunshine reeling. 

The first is both simpler and much more complex than the other: the boy next door, the one who resembles a younger version of Sunshine's Papa Astro but is much, _much_ more obnoxious, comes over and plays with Brian. This is not as normal as it might seem, because the boy, who goes by Mikey (a name which Sunshine automatically hates, though he knows it is common and suspects that he is being childish by taking such a strong dislike to the boy), has never been over before. 

One thing that immensely disappoints Sunshine about this boy, who he might otherwise have tried to tolerate, is that Mikey is a talker. Not only is he a talker, but he is an _incessant_ talker. This is bad news for both Brian and Sunshine, because while the inseparable boys try to have their silent conversations, the ones where they use only their eyes, Mikey keeps interrupting. He is truly the most juvenile being Sunshine has ever met; by his calculations, even a retarded person could take the hint that somebody does not wish to be in your presence. Apparently this has not gotten through to Mikey, and for one reason or another, Brian finds it endearing. 

"He's a kid," Brian tells Sunshine in a low whisper. "Not like us. We know all about grown-up stuff, but Mikey's just a kid."

That scares Sunshine, because unbeknownst to Brian, the second that Brian stops being a kid, Sunshine has to go away forever. And then gone will be the moonlight falling upon the boys' silhouettes as they sleep, curled up together; gone will be the way the sunrise shines over their bodies in the morning, long before they awaken; gone will be the way during thunderstorms, they seek sanctuary in one another's arms. 

The way it has been explained to Sunshine by his Mama Star is that, "Once you grow up, you don't need any of that anyway."

Sunshine isn't so sure. He has a feeling that Jack and Joan would be a lot happier if they had someone to cuddle at night. As it stands, Jack begrudgingly sleeps in the basement, while Joan occupies the master bedroom. 

But over the course of the day, as Mikey nags Brian about spending time with him rather than Sunshine, the boy becomes more and more of an irritant to both Brian and Sunshine. At last, Brian groans audibly, and utters the terrifying, heart-stopping, earth-shattering magic words: "Michael, grow up." 

It is then that the second thing happens. A bolt of lighting crashes over their heads, and the lights flicker, plunging the Kinney household into total darkness. 

The window to Brian's bedroom creaks open, and some familiar sort of magnetic force begins to pull Sunshine closer and closer to the window, the sky darkened by the rainstorm. He does not want to go, but something inside of him tells him that he has to. 

Illuminated on the wall is the shadow of Michael's finger puppets. Glumly, Sunshine turns to look, trying to distract himself from the pull of the wind outside. The figure currently shown is a superhero – Michael calls him "Rage," named after Sunshine's supposed-to-be-private nickname for Brian – performing some kind of elaborate dance with a clone. This is all explained by Michael in elaborate detail. The finger puppets aren't really that great, though, and all Sunshine can see is a little boy and a man staring each other down. 

There is another crash of lightning. Michael whimpers, and as Brian crosses the room to comfort his neighbor, Sunshine wonders: _If Brian was scared, would I do the same_? He knows immediately that he would. But then he wonders: _What if it was me who was scared_? 

Suddenly, he isn't so sure. Deep in the bottom of his heart and his mind, he knows that yes, of course Brian would console him. But as he looks from the finger puppets to the window, Sunshine feels he must make a decision as to where he should go: out in the blinding, crashing, terrifying storm like a man, which somehow he suspects to be the work of his Papa Zen and Papa Astro, or alternatively, over to Michael and Brian, where young Mikey is playing with finger puppets and Brian looks on in disdain. 

"Brian," Sunshine whispers in a choked voice. 

Warm – and at the same time, _freezing cold_ – hazel eyes redirect themselves toward Sunshine. Somehow, Brian can identify Sunshine's struggle, his emotional pain, and he steps quickly away from Mikey and approaches his best friend, his brother. "What's wrong?" Brian whispers, holding Sunshine in his arms. 

"I think," says Sunshine in a voice that is now choked with tears rather than fear... "I think I have to go." 

Brian stands there, looking at him. For a long moment, his eyes just stare into Justin's, mature hazel gazing deep into icy blue. It occurs to Brian that maybe he is growing up, and maybe he doesn't need a playmate. He tries to cast all thoughts of _need_ and _want_ and _love_ out of his mind; instead, he replaces them with the thought of _maybe it's for the best_. He tries to think of something to say or do to break the silence and the feeling that tears are welling up behind his eyes. 

He turns to Mikey and plucks a superhero action figure from his hand. Mikey squawks angrily, but Brian ignores him, holding the action figure tight against his chest. He squeezes it, trying to gather all the warmth from the toy, and finally, reaches over to Sunshine and hands it to him.

Sunshine smiles. It is not his Sunshine smile, the one that lights up the room, but it's still a soft smile, and it's something, at least. It's something. 

"If you cried," Sunshine says, not looking at Brian but rather at the toy, "I might be able to stay." 

Brian closes his eyes. He very much believes what Sunshine is saying – that if he let that tear drop from his eye the way he so badly wants it to, maybe, just maybe, his friend could stay. But then maybe he would be a child forever, always dragging along his playmate like some sort of comfort blanket. No – better to abandon the pretense of need and love, better to accept the fact that, like it or not, he is growing up, changing, and in the process, becoming independent. 

Still, it's hard not to look at the way the moonlight falls on Sunshine's hair and _not_ want to keep the boy for himself. Forever. 

"No," says Brian.

Sunshine has clearly steeled himself for this, and he squeezes the superhero tighter. "All right," he says, and now his voice seems almost back to normal. The tears are gone from his throat. There is a long moment of silence during which Sunshine edges closer and closer to the window, and Brian moves further and further away. 

"I do love you, you know," Sunshine says, his hand on the windowsill, ready to pull himself up. 

For a long time, it seems like Brian isn't going to answer. But then, as Sunshine boosts himself up into the window and gets ready to jump out, knowing that he will be carried away by the wind and up, up, up into the sky to the palace of Britin, Brian whispers his response. "I love you," he rasps, still standing so far away. But then he rushes closer to the window and repeats it, gazing up into Sunshine's blue eyes like somehow, even without letting the tears fall, it might enable him to stay. "I love you." 

Sunshine does not lean down to kiss Brian before he goes, because they don't need kisses or anything like that to seal their union, their friendship, their love. They don't need _anything_ – not friendship bracelets or kisses or hugs or silly sparkly rings like the ones Joan and Jack wear. No, Brian and Sunshine don't need anything like that. They just need the knowledge that they love each other, and that, they clearly will always have. 

Standing two feet away from the window, Brian gazes up at Sunshine, wanting to permanently remember the image of his blond friend standing on the windowsill, looking out into the night sky, one hand pressed against the wallpaper of Brian's bedroom and the other arm out, dangling out into the night. Then Sunshine slowly, carefully removes his other hand, putting it out in the night air like he is Superman – or Rage – and is about to fly away. His feet, clad in nothing but fading blue socks, are next to dislodge themselves from the windowsill – but though Sunshine is stepping out into the air, into nothingness, he is not steeling himself for a fall. 

And he doesn't fall. 

Quite to the contrary, as he releases the windowsill with his hands and feet, Sunshine gazes up at the moon and the stars and with the force of a rocket being sent up into the sky, or at least Peter Pan, Sunshine is suddenly floating... floating... flying away. He finds himself unable to turn back, but merely looks forward, reaching his cupped hands out as though to grab the stars, and when he arrives at Britin, he opens the palace door and wonders how long it will be before he sees an angel Brian step forward and take his place among the cherubs, among Sunshine, among the stars.


End file.
